House bristled when Cuddy told Wilson that finding a resolution with him wasn't always possible. He already felt scolded and talked down at by Wilson, the lecturing bastard - he didn't need Cuddy talking about him like he was a naughty child, too, right in front of him.
When Cuddy conceded that she didn't want to get into another argument, House looked over at her. "He started it." He jerked his thumb in Wilson's direction. "You want to talk about not getting into another endless argument, tell him that. For once, it's not my fault."
"House..." Wilson piped up. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then held his hands up in another gesture of surrender. "Cuddy's right. Now's not the place to get into an argument, about anything. I wasn't trying to cause an argument. It was just conversation, something that people do sometimes when they need to work something out."
House sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand before reaching into his pocket for the tissue again. "And like I said. It's none of your business."
It was on the tip of Wilson's tongue to bite back that being House's only friend in the entire world, besides Cuddy, automatically meant everything was his business because who the hell else was House going to confide in and work out his problems with? But that was why he was in the psych hospital, he reminded himself. So House could work out his problems, hopefully problems like this one, too. He just mildly threw a hand up in defeat instead of saying anything at all.
Once he wiped his nose and stuffed the tissue back into his pocket, House reached down for his cane and started to push himself up from the bench. He was too tired and too fuzzy from the drugs to discuss any of this. He felt low and ashamed enough as it was to be in the psych hospital without Wilson and Cuddy making it worse by openly pointing out all the things he did and got wrong. "If you two want to bond over Kosher and simchat bats, by all means."
no subject
When Cuddy conceded that she didn't want to get into another argument, House looked over at her. "He started it." He jerked his thumb in Wilson's direction. "You want to talk about not getting into another endless argument, tell him that. For once, it's not my fault."
"House..." Wilson piped up. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then held his hands up in another gesture of surrender. "Cuddy's right. Now's not the place to get into an argument, about anything. I wasn't trying to cause an argument. It was just conversation, something that people do sometimes when they need to work something out."
House sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand before reaching into his pocket for the tissue again. "And like I said. It's none of your business."
It was on the tip of Wilson's tongue to bite back that being House's only friend in the entire world, besides Cuddy, automatically meant everything was his business because who the hell else was House going to confide in and work out his problems with? But that was why he was in the psych hospital, he reminded himself. So House could work out his problems, hopefully problems like this one, too. He just mildly threw a hand up in defeat instead of saying anything at all.
Once he wiped his nose and stuffed the tissue back into his pocket, House reached down for his cane and started to push himself up from the bench. He was too tired and too fuzzy from the drugs to discuss any of this. He felt low and ashamed enough as it was to be in the psych hospital without Wilson and Cuddy making it worse by openly pointing out all the things he did and got wrong. "If you two want to bond over Kosher and simchat bats, by all means."
"House," Wilson protested, exasperated.